


Songs from a Speakeasy

by Reagen_S



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Domestic Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Rating May Change, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, only one paragraph though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-07-02 10:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reagen_S/pseuds/Reagen_S
Summary: An E/C story, based in 1920's New York City. Christine is a singer at a speakeasy, owned by the DeChagny family, and Erik is a mob boss.I'm awful at summaries and this might've been done already, but its an interesting plot.This is also more of a first draft than a polished story, so please bear with me.(Not abandoned, I'm just having some writers block atm)





	1. Chapter 1

The sudden lack of music from the band caught the crowd's attention. A few looked around nervously, apprehensive of being in a speakeasy. But as the crowd hushed, a light fell on the small stage. A beautiful girl stood there, a smile teasing at her lips. Unlike most of the women in the club, her chestnut hair was long and worn down. Her outfit was a simple white beaded dress and heels, a minimalistic headband with a feather crowning her head. 

Christine had been singing at the club since her father passed. She was an excellent singer, her voice clear and melodic as she went through the smooth notes from the jazz band. After two songs, she gave a half curtsy and disappeared into the area backstage.

A sharp contrast to the dark, smoky club, backstage was brightly lit and full of life. As the next act came forward, Christine's friend Meg approached her. 

"Oh, Christine, you were wonderful! I wish I had your voice." the blonde chirped. They shared a smile as Christine shook her head. 

"Oh, hush. It's just practice. Besides, I could hardly take the prima ballerina from the act." She laughed as Meg made a face. Meg Had been trained in classical ballet before she started working at the club. Now instead of waltzes and pirouettes, she did the Charleston and swing dances. 

She gave her friend a peck on the cheek and wished her good luck, before getting her coat and walking home. 

Absorbed in her thoughts, she didn't notice the man who lingered backstage watching her.


	2. Chapter 2

The walk was long and bitterly cold. The wind tore through her flimsy coat and she shivered. She couldn't afford to get a new coat, not with what the club was willing to pay her, so she shuffled on and buried her chin deeper into her dark blue scarf. 

"Hey, sweetheart!" a man called out. Christine startled and looked up at the speaker. 

Crossing the street was a man with a charming smile that seemed almost predatory. It widened as he caught her gaze. 

"You seem cold. Need a man to warm you up?" He laughed as Christine recoil. As he came closer, she recognized him as the club owner's son, Raoul. A few more steps towards her and she could smell the stale scent of cheap liquor on his breath. 

"No, I don't. Please just leave me alone, I need to get home." She tried to push past him but he caught her by the shoulder and turned her towards him again. The turn pushed her firmly against his body and she tried in vain to get away from his unwanted proximity. 

"Aww, don't be like that doll. How 'bout we go back to my place and get you... warmed up?" he purred. Panic stirred in her veins as she continued struggling, making no progress. 

"Raoul, I said no. Let go of me!" His smile turned dark and his eyes lit up with a dark, almost frenzied light. 

"I wasn't asking, I was telling. Are you going to be good or do I need to take care of you now?" His tone was malicious and she struggled harder, tears growing in her eyes. 

"No! Stop! Get off of me, you bastard." She yelled and tried to hit him.

He stopped her as if she was nothing and swiftly returned the favor, slapping her across the face which was accompanied by a sickening crack. Pain screamed in her jaw, unlike any she had ever known. Her tears now flowed down her pale face, unrestricted. He hauled her harshly off of the pavement where she had fallen.

"Try something like that again and it'll be a lot worse for you. Do you understand me?"

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him, causing her jaw to hurt even worse. 

"Do. You. Understand?" She whimpered an affirmative and he began to walk towards his street, a vice grip around her shoulder ensuring she couldn't escape.


	3. Chapter 3

When they reached his door, he deposited her on the steps so that he could rummage through his pockets for the key to his apartment. The street was deserted, to be expected since it was nearly two in the morning. Christine felt the last off her hope ebb away, submitting to her horrible reality. 

A sharp series of clacks tore her from her thoughts, the noise becoming quicker and louder. The source of the clacks was a young man who was walking briskly towards Raoul and Christine. She felt a tendril of hope spring up, reborn from the ashes like a phoenix. Raoul was still looking for his key, oblivious to the man approaching them. 

The stranger knelt before her, the soft glow of the gaslights revealing his face. He was very handsome, with a chiseled face, kind eyes and soft looking black hair which was combed fashionably back. His beauty made the mask even more jarring, covering half of his face from temple to the top of his lip. 

"It's alright, I won't hurt you. I heard you a few blocks over. Are you alright?"

She met his gaze, his piercing blue eyes freezing her for a moment. She hesitantly shook her head and looked up to make sure Raoul hadn't seen him yet. He followed her gaze and scowled.

"Let's go, I am taking you home." He extended his hand to Christine who took it and rose. The movement caught Raoul's eye and he turned around to confront them. 

"Doll, you better sit back down. You're just making it harder on yourself." he hissed and she instinctively clutched closer to the stranger. Raoul met the stranger's gaze with an artificial smile.

"Sorry, she just gets bitchy when she's had too much. We're fine so you should leave." "No, I don't think so." Raoul scowled. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to?" "Again, no. The real question is who you think you're talking to. This is my neighborhood, DeChagny. I suggest you go into your apartment while you still can. It would be such a shame if it was burned down. Moreso, if you happened to be in it." At every word, Raoul went a little paler. With the last scraps of confidence he could muster, he glared down at Christine. 

"I won't forget about this, bitch. We'll see how your tune changes when you're unemployed." 

Before either the stranger or Christine could react, Raould fled inside.


	4. Chapter 4

The stranger barely seemed concerned by his words or the door's abrupt slam. He offered her a hand to get up, which she gratefully accepted. 

"Are you alright?" he asked her, as she wobbled upon standing. His piercing yellow eyes ran over her, examining the petite woman before him. She gave a quick dip of her head and let go of his hand. "Thank you for helping me but I need to get home." She spoke quietly, not meeting his eyes. 

His brow furrowed as he watched her attempt a shaky step. She stumbled and nearly fell but he caught her before she could do so. "I don't think you'll be able to make it. Come with me to my house." Her eyes widened with horror and started spluttering a mix of excuses and pleas. He gently cradled her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "I will not take advantage of you, I just want to ensure that you'll be alright. You are safe with me. Do you understand?" 

Raoul's similar words echoed through her mind but she whispered a soft yes. He let his hands drop from her face and looked her over critically once more. "Do you think you can walk?" Her next wobbly steps ended the same as her first attempt and she pinkened in embarrassment. "I'm going to have to carry you then. It's not far, it'll be a short walk." 

Before she could protest, he lifted her up and moved his arms to wrap around her waist. "Are you comfortable?" He asked tentatively, as she wrapped her arms around his neck so that she wouldn't fall. "Yes." She murmured into his neck, where her head lay. His hair was soft against her face and he smelled of something metallic and pleasantly sharp, with a hint of something that reminded her of home. The street was silent except for the man's steady footsteps, which echoed down the empty alleyways. 

Within a few minutes, the reached a shabby looking apartment building and the stranger propped her torso against the buildings' stone wall so that he could have a free hand to unlock the door. Gathering her up again, they went inside and up a flight of stairs which led to a room. When they reached that room, he settled her on a soft bed and sat down on a chair across from her. 

The room was not as small as she had first thought, sparsely filled and decorated. The floors were a warm honey-colored wood, contrasting softly with the sterile white color of the walls. Behind the man, was a desk littered with papers in front of a window that displayed a good portion of the city. The bed she occupied was larger than she had ever slept on, with a soft, thick blanket beneath her.

While she looked around the room, the man looked at her. It had been too dark to see much of anything when he first saw her but now, in the flickering candlelight, he felt his heart lurch. She was exquisite, more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen. Her chestnut hair was long, almost reaching her back, and lay in thick ringlets. As she looked off at something else, the light reflected in her eyes and made the bright cornflower blue even more prominent. She had soft features that seemed almost regal and her lips were pink and full, like a rose in full bloom. 

She must have heard his sharp intake of breath because she turned sharply to look at him. "Why did you bring me here?" she asked, her small white teeth scrapping her lip anxiously. His heart stuttered but he managed to reply calmly. "I wanted to make sure he wouldn't be able to find you tonight. I didn't want to take the chance that he knew where you lived," he heard a small wince escape her but continued, "so I brought you to my home instead." She nodded absently at this, teeth still worrying at her bottom lip. "I meant what I said earlier. I won't touch you if you don't want me to, and I'll make sure that you're safe for the night. You're welcome to leave as soon as the sun rises if you wish." She met his eyes hesitantly, soft blue meeting molten gold. "Thank you for rescuing me tonight. If you hadn't come along..." she trailed off, shaking her head and looked out the window. 

His breath caught in his throat and a cold wave of horror washed over him. He hadn't been able to see it before but now, with her body at a different angle, he saw the blood on her face and the horrible, blotchy purple mark on her jaw. The horror faded into a fierce, protective anger. How dare that pitiful excuse of a man hurt her like this, he seethed. He took a deep breath to steady himself before sitting down on the bed, facing her.

"Did he.." he faltered, her eyes boring into him. He licked his lip nervously before starting again. "Did he hurt you?" She broke their gaze and brought her hand to her jaw, lightly as if it was too painful to fully touch, before jerking it away. "I'm fine, really." His jaw tightened, becoming slightly painful, and he stiffly got up, striding towards the door. "Where are you going?" she called after him, feeling nervous about staying here alone. "To teach that monster a lesson. After tonight, he'll never hurt you ever again." The venom in his smooth voice startled her, making her a bit frightened of the stranger. "No, please. Just stay here. He's not worth the trouble that it'll bring, I'm really ok. I'll be fine." He returned to her side, eyes blazing with barely controlled fury. "You are not fine." he snapped and she flinched at his tone. Closing his eyes and taking a breath, he tried to steady himself. "How could you say that and try to stop me from giving him what he deserves? Do you understand what he has done to you? If he had hit you any harder, he would have shattered your jaw. Even without breaking it, it will take weeks to heal, meaning that you'll be in pain for weeks. None of this is ok, not at all. You don't deserve someone like that man in your life, he doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as you. Let me get rid of him for you, I beg you kotyonok." 

She shook her head firmly and latched onto his thin wrist. "No, if anything happens to him, I will get in trouble and lose my job. If I lose my job, I will have nothing left." Her voice trembled, unsure if he would listen to her. To her immense relief, he agreed quickly. "I will not do anything to him if it will hurt you in return. I promise." She turned her head to lean into a pillow better and he saw the angry discoloration beginning to radiate further from her jaw. "At the very least, let me get ice for your jaw." After a moment, she let go of his wrist. He came back moments later with a rag full of ice and she held it to her face until it began to melt, the freezing water dripping down her neck. He took it from her and draped it over the back of the chair for it to dry, feeling the weight of her eyes follow him across the room. He met her gaze steadily, willing himself not to betray his thoughts. She dropped her eyes to her lap where she fiddled with a bead on her dress. Her voice was nervous and unsteady when she gathered the courage to speak. 

"Will you, I mean would you mind staying with me tonight?" He blinked in surprise and managed a startled, "What?" Her cheeks turned a bright pink and she looked up at him cautiously. "I don't want to be by myself tonight, especially in a house I've never-" she stopped mid-sentence and muttered, "Never mind, it's stupid. Just forget I asked." He sat back down on the bed next to her and laid his hand on hers gently. "If that's what you need, then I'll stay." She peeked through her curtain of hair and asked "Really?" "Really." he firmly responded. A soft oh was the only thing that slipped out of her. 

As he settled into the lone armchair next to the bed, watching the night sky begin to slightly lighten, he wondered to himself how this had all happened.


	5. Reflections

With the light of the sunrise flooding in, the room seemed ethereal and foreign to Christine. It reminded her distantly of her childhood home, where she had lived before her mother died and she had moved with her father to America. Those memories were bittersweet and the soft smile made her jaw twinge in pain, quickly reminding her of the previous night. 

Raoul's words rang still in her ears, refusing her peace. Her heart dropped as her thoughts turned to her very limited options. She couldn't afford to lose her job, as it would mean eviction and be barred from performing in any of the city's other clubs. But returning would mean facing Raoul again, with no hope of avoidance. 

A soft creak broke her reverie and she turned to see the door open as the man who had saved her walked in, carefully balancing a tray. The sunrise did little to soften his angular face but it did cast a warm glow over the white mask he wore as well as his thick black hair. He gave a soft smile that quickly fled as his eyes landed on her swollen jaw. 

"I thought we might have a quick breakfast before you depart," he said, moving slowly to avoid startling her as he placed the tray at the edge of the bed. Smelling the aroma of fresh coffee and sugary pastries, Christine's stomach gave a traitorous lurch. 

"I could not possibly. You have been more than kind and I do not want to intrude any more than I have already," she spoke softly, not meeting his eyes or his scowl as she continued. "Thank you for what you have done, but I should go now." 

"Nonsense." he declared firmly, startling her into looking up at him. "The coffee is already brewed and you are already here. A few more moments will not harm anyone. After, I'll walk you home." 

"You really don't have to do-" "I'm afraid I have to insist," he spoke, pinning her with a sharp look. Christine colored quickly and looked cowed as he handed her one of the steaming mugs. 

"Thank you..." she began but trailed off when she realized she had never gotten his name. Seeing the mortified look on her face, he laughed softly before he spoke. 

"I don't think we had much of a chance to exchange names last night, it's quite alright." She shook her head, annoyed at her lack of manners. "It is anything but. My name is Christine Daae." "Christine Daae, what a lovely name." He spoke her name as if it was a fervent prayer. "I am Erik Destler." 

"Truly a pleasure." she murmured and he felt his heart flutter like a caged bird, though he knew she was probably only being polite. He was quickly distracted from that notion by her countenance. With her back to the window, the warm morning light illuminated her dark curls and pale face with gold. As she took small sips from the plain ceramic mug, the steam curled around her like a caress and kept color in her cheeks. 

"Mr. Destler-" Her voice, soft and timid as she spoke his last name, recaptured his attention and he impulsively cut her off. 

"Please, Ms. Daae, call me Erik." Her eyes widened a bit as she blinked owlishly at him. "I apologize for interrupting, continue."

"Alright, then Erik." His heart fluttered again, hearing his name fall from her perfect lips. "You can call me Christine if you'd like. Where are you from?"

He recoiled slightly at the question, looking somewhat affronted. "What do you mean?" he asked, fearing that she would hold an attitude similar to the man she had been with the previous night. Seeing his reaction, she reached out to him without thinking and her hand fell on his as she began apologizing. 

"I am so sorry! I truly didn't mean to upset you, Erik. It was just... with the coffee... a-and the kanelbullar." she gesticulated wildly for a moment, looking somewhat panicked, before shrugging helplessly. 

Erik, now incredibly confused and more than a little startled, could not think of a single thing to say other than "What?"

"I love kanelbullar and it reminded me of home; when I was younger, I lived in Sweden. I thought, maybe you did too. But that was so rude of me, I am so sorry and-" her rambling apology stopped abruptly when Erik gently squeezed her hand that was still in his. She looked at him, doe-eyed and fearful, but he smiled gently at her. 

"Christine, its fine, don't fret over a simple question. I was just startled by the question, that's all. I am from Russia, not terribly far from Sweden. You and I have both come a long way from home." he said, watching relief wash over her at his words. 

As the sun continued its fiery crawl across the sky, they exchanged tales of childhood and the strange new land they now lived in. Christine spoke of her late parents, her love of singing and how she struggled with the new language, completely unaware of how much she had in common with the man sitting across from her. Erik her words and shared trivial stories from both Russia and New York, the rhythm of his words drawing her deeper into his stories. The coffee cooled unnoticed and hours passed without notice, both were too enraptured to notice. Eventually, Erik noticed the changing light and knew he had to inform Christine of the time. 

"I am afraid I have kept you for too long, Christine." he said quietly, gesturing towards the window. She gazed out the window for a moment, frowning at the sight. "It's time for me to return you home." Looking away from the window, her frown lingered but she allowed him to help her off the bed. She reached for the plates to return them to the kitchen but he lightly batted her hand away. "There is no need for you to do that, I'll take care of it when I return." he chided, leading her to the door.

They stopped by the front door and put on their coats, pausing for Erik to wrap another scarf around her thin neck. The air was bitterly cold as they walked, the blocks seeming to stretch on forever. As the area around them got more and more dilapidated, she held onto his arm and stayed close to his side. Erik was hardly about to complain of the sudden change in proximity and he slowed his pace to accommodate her smaller stature. 

He tried to mask his horror and revulsion when the entered one of the buildings on a particularly seedy street, but it didn't escape Christine's notice. She waved with faux cheerfulness at the drunkard who served for a doorman and began to unwrap the scarf that Erik had put around her. As they climbed a rickety flight of stairs to her room, she spoke quietly and tried to sound optimistic. 

"Well, this is it. I'd like to say that it's better on the inside but I can't. Still, I'm lucky to have it and maybe one day I'll be able to afford something nicer." She smiled up at him and, ignoring his protest, hung the scarf around his neck before opening the door. As they both shuffled into the room, Erik looked around and Christine watched him apprehensively. 

The room was cramped but it was obvious that Christine did her best to keep it tidy and clean. A cot was at the back corner of the room, another one lying dismantled beneath it, and a large chest lay at the foot of it. On the opposite side, there was a small stove and a large crate that served as a table, flanked by two unstable looking wooden chairs.

She busied herself with starting a pot of water for tea, unable to stand there and wait for his judgment.

Why could she not afford something better, he wondered, keenly aware of how small the room was as he sat down at the makeshift table. 

As if she could read his mind, she spoke up from her spot in front of the stove. 

"The club I work at doesn't pay well but it was the only club that would hire me. After my father died, all I had was debt. No one wanted to hire me, we had just come from Sweden and my English was horrible." She poured two cups and sat down at the table, handing Erik the hot drink, nodding at his thanks before continuing. "I had a friend who worked at the club and she got me a job there. It's hard but I've been able to make it work. Although, now I might have even less." She fiddled with her tea, reflecting morosely on the encounter with Raoul and her aching jaw. He wouldn't leave her alone, not after she managed to escape him. What price would she pay for that, she thought dourly. 

Listening to her, he felt an overwhelming desire to protect her and ensure her safety. He pushed those thoughts aside and watched her as she looked vacantly into her cup and trailed her pinky across the surface of her tea. 

"Christine.." he began, not sure of what to say next. Her head jerked up and she met his gaze, eyes suspiciously wet. 

"I have to get to the club soon, I should get ready. Thank you for everything you've done for me, Erik" she said, intense gratitude coloring his name. He frowned but didn't push the matter as he stood up. 

"I wish we had met under different circumstances but, nonetheless, I am glad to have met you." He lingered just outside her door for a moment, looking slightly vulnerable. "If you need anything, you can always come to me." The words were barely a whisper but she heard them anyway. "Be safe, kotyonok." 

She watched as he seemed to float down the stairs, full of poise and cat-like grace. It was doubtful that their paths would cross again, she mused. Despite that, she sent a prayer that God would smile upon his future and protect him as she got ready for work.


	6. Curtain Call

The first thing she saw when she entered the club was Meg sitting on the floor, in tears. Her heart lurched and she rushed over to the petite blonde. 

"Meg, what's wrong?" she asked anxiously, crouching down next to her friend. Meg's eyes widened with horror and she spoke quickly, the words pouring out of her. 

"Christine, you shouldn't be here. Raoul is telling his father such horrible lies about you, the vile man. You should leave before he sees you. Please, Christine, you have to!" Meg was growing hysterical and her friend towed her to a secluded area backstage. 

"Meg, you have to tell me what you've heard." Meg shook her head violently, on the verge of tears again. "I have to know, please, just tell me." The blonde smoothed her hair nervously as she started talking. 

"He's saying, oh god, he's saying that you-you followed him out last night and, oh Christine, I know it's not true, but he's saying that you begged him to, you know, go home with him. He said that when he said no, you- oh Christine don't make me finish!" she pleaded. Christine felt on the verge of tears herself but waited for her friend to continue. "When he said no, you hit him and almost killed him with a broken bottle!" The last part was all in one breath and, if Christine hadn't been so upset, she would have been slightly amazed. 

Meg shot her a look full of sympathy and sadness before Christine left, making her way towards the chairs kept backstage for the performers. She didn't get far before she heard a voice that made her blood run cold. 

"You must be pretty confident, coming back here after last night." Raoul sneered, coming towards her quickly. When she didn't respond, he grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her to turn towards him. She winced in pain as he forced her head back and stepping towards her so that he was flush against her back. She could feel each intake of breath he took, each alcohol-soaked breath against her cheek. "I don't think you'll be feeling too confident later tonight, baby." She flinched and he laughed harshly before letting go of her hair and pushing her forwards. Stumbling, she fell to the ground and pain blossomed in her wrist from breaking her fall. 

"You're fired," he said coldly. "Finish this show, collect your money, and leave. Don't bother looking for another club to hire you, they've all heard about how you attacked me after acting like a trollop. You'll never sing in New York again." With a look of smug satisfaction on his face, he left her on the ground and walked back to the bar.

Swallowing back her tears, she righted her hair and dress and did her best to ignore the pain in her wrist. As the music started up again, she heard her cue and stepped out onto the stage. 

The air was thick with the smoke from cigarettes and reefers, dulling the shine of the lights. Christine began to sing, floating easily through the melodic jazz. Raoul was directly in her line of sight, still looking smug, so she moved her gaze to the back of the club. She smiled a bit when she saw a recognizable glint of white. 

Erik sat at the bar, watching Christine preform and nursing a glass of vodka. When he saw her face light up with recognition, he smiled and gave a small wave. She looked beautiful in the dusky light of the club, but her beauty paled in comparison to her voice. It baffled him that she had not been taken in by an opera company yet. Surely, he was not the only one to notice her, he thought as her voice floated above the music. To his displeasure, she only stayed on stage before ceding the stage to a small group of dancers. Just before she left the stage, she met his gaze again and mouthed "stay" at him. He nodded and she disappeared behind the thick curtain. 

She reemerged a few moments later, already holding her coat, and made her way towards Erik through the crowd. A few feet from him, Raoul grabbed her hurt wrist and spun her to face him. She tried to shove him off but he gripped her wrist tighter, making her whimper in pain. 

"Hey, Christine, the brothel down the street is always hiring. I'll see you there, baby." he crooned, making her stomach churn at the prospect. He released her wrist with a laugh and, as she turned to leave, lightly slapped her ass. A few of his friends hooted and shouted crude remarks at her but she tried to ignore them. Looking up, she saw Erik coming towards her through the packed bar, concern clear on his face. 

Erik cursed himself for not recognizing the man from the other night and for choosing a seat so far away, as he fought against the tightly packed crowd to get to Christine. As soon as he saw her face, he knew that just leaving would not be enough for him. Tears were nearly spilling in her eyes and she looked utterly humiliated.

"Are you okay?" he asked, noticing the way she was cradling her wrist. 

"Please, let's just leave, Erik." He looked down at her and shook his head. 

"Christine, it's going to be fine. Let me deal with him." he said, moving around her so she was completely behind him. She clutched his wrist and gave a half-hearted tug, but he ignored it and pressed forward.

Raoul was on his feet as soon as he recognized Erik, eyes blazing in anger as he recalled his near victory the night before. 

"YOU!" he roared, making everyone fall silent as they nervously watched the scene unfold. Erik sneered in response, unimpressed by the reaction. "How dare you come here?!" Erik raised an eyebrow.

"Who are you to stop me, DeChagny? I thought that I had been clear enough last night but let me put it in simpler terms so your tiny mind can understand: don't touch what isn't yours. Third strike, you're out." Erik said with a decidedly neutral tone. 

A vein stood out on Raoul's forehead, pulsing as he reeled in anger. Behind Erik, a movement caught his eye and he smiled.

"So this is about the little whore then?" he jeered, seeing Christine's face flush before disappearing back behind the man. 

The smug smirk lasted only a moment before Erik's fist cracked against Raoul's face. He fell back towards the bar and spat out some blood. For a moment, everything was silent as he stared at his blood in disbelief. The silence was broken when he launched himself at Erik, cussing up a storm. Erik dodged and slid to the left, making sure to keep Christine safely behind him as he continued dodging the uncoordinated blows. The crowd was screaming all around them but no one moved to stop them. Since it was a speakeasy, no one dared to fetch the police and hoped that it would resolve itself. 

Growing bored of dodging the tired, clumsy blows, Erik struck him again. Raoul stumbled back into a table, looking disoriented as the next blow came and knocked him to the floor. Raoul tried weakly to kick Erik away but the other man just laughed at him before turning away. He took Christine by the arm and headed towards the door.

Taking the opportunity, Raoul got up and slammed Erik to the floor, dislodging the man's mask. Gasps of horror and revulsion filled the room and Raoul looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or scream. They both stood up and faced each other warily. 

"DeChagny, you'd be wise to let us leave now." Erik hissed angrily. The blonde looked mildly unsettled but grabbed a small knife from its holster on his calf. He looked determined but Erik sighed as he reached to the small of his back. 

In one fluid move, he brought a pistol forward and aimed at Raoul's head, looking almost bored. Raoul, on the other hand, looked like he was about to lose control of his bodily functions.

"Tell me, Mr.DeChagny," Erik asked quietly, walking closer to him and swiftly batting the knife out of his hand. "Do you believe in God?" The gun was against his temple now and the man shook like a tree in a hurricane. 

A hand tugged insistently on his arm but he didn't move, waiting for Raoul's answer. 

"No," the man whimpered. His finger closed loosely around the trigger when the hand tugged again, harder this time. It was Christine, he realized belatedly. 

"Erik, stop," she pleaded. "You don't need to do this. Please." Her voice broke on the last word and he returned the gun to its holster. 

Without even a glance at her, he picked up her coat from the bar floor and walked out to the alley outside. She was right behind him, though not quite touching. Silently, he held out her coat for her and, after drawing it close around her, they began to walk to his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might split this up later, it got a little long


	7. Aftermath

As they walked through the city blocks, the full moon's light was reflected off of the softly falling snow. Christine noticed, looking up at the night sky for a moment as she walked, keeping pace with Erik. She was walked with him silently, unsure of what to do or say to him. Though they walked side by side, they did not reach out for the other out of fear for their reaction. Christine feared his anger being turned to her and Erik feared her response to what had lain underneath his mask. Just as the sharp winter winds began to blow, they arrived at his house and swiftly entered. 

Without even pausing to remove his coat, Erik disappeared down the hall and left Christine dripping in the foyer. When he didn't return after a few minutes, she hung up her coat and scarf on the stand and, for a lack of options, headed towards the bedroom she had spent the night in. After lighting a few of the numerous candles, she wrapped the thick blanket around her and sat at the end of the bed, legs dangling off but not quite touching the floor. The view was slightly obscured by the fierce snowstorm happening outside but she stared at it anyway, trying to process what had happened. 

Sometime later, she heard him come down the hall and stop in the doorframe. She didn't move an inch, waiting for him to decide what he was doing as she watched gusts of wind swirl them around. He lingered in the doorway a little longer before coming in and kneeling on the ground in front of her, looking up at her as he struggled to find the words he wanted. Unable to find them, he raked a hand through his hair and spoke her name at a near whisper.

She looked down at him, noting that the mask was back. For a moment, she wondered why he would bother to replace it. But for now, it did not matter. Right now, all that mattered was the two of them.

Slipping off of the bed, she sat next to him and draped the blanket over their shoulders. They sat together in silence as they thought about what would come next. For a while, the only sound was their even breathing and sleeting slamming against the glass.

"Christine, I'm sorry," he said, his voice hoarse and trembling with emotion. Her blue eyes regarded him carefully but gave nothing away. He shook his head mournfully before continuing. "It was never my intention to frighten you. I never meant to let it get that far or for you to see-" he caught himself and finished lamely, "what you saw."

"I know." was the only reply she gave. He eyed her warily before adding on to what he had said.

"What I told you the other night still holds true. I will not hurt you, and if you don't want me to, I won't touch you."

"I don't believe you," she said calmly, not meeting his gaze.

Pretending that her words hadn't felt like a deathblow to his heart, he asked, "Why not?" She turned her face to him, watching his emotions flit across his face, before slowly answering.

"I know you don't want to hurt me. But I saw what you can do. I saw the bloodlust in your eyes. When I tried to stop you, you almost turned that on me. You weren't you anymore." She turned her face away again. "I will not accept promises that I know you cannot keep." 

His yellow eyes were full of something akin to grief and his soft repetition of "No," was something between a plea and a statement. She only shrugged tiredly and stared intently at his shoes.

"We should both sleep, it's late," she said softly. He gave a jerky nod and got up less gracefully than normal. Lingering by the door again, he looked at her and vanished down the hall without a sound. 

She stayed there for a moment longer, blanket held close to ward off the cold air. She got up shakily and blew out the candles, leaving her in darkness.


	8. An Unexpected Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of drugs and drug use at the end of this chapter.
> 
> Sorry for the wait, I've been in a bit of a rut with this story. Hope you enjoy it, please let me know if you see any errors!

Christine was woken up the next morning by a hard rapping noise. After a moment, it came again and she realized that it was someone at the front door. Putting on a dressing gown that had been left on the desk chair, she peeked out into the hall. The rapping, which had momentarily ceased, resumed again with vigor. She quickly descended the stairs but hesitated by the door. It was not her house but Erik was nowhere in sight and she had no way of finding him. Carefully, she pushed aside the flimsy curtain away from the frosty window and looked out. 

Standing on the fronts step was a man who looked to be around Erik's age, wearing a thin coat and shivering violently. As his breath left as white puffs in the winter air, he called for Erik and swore profusely about the cold. With only another moment of hesitation, she went and opened the door slightly. 

"Can I help you?" she asked, trying to sound more confident than she felt. The man looked bewildered and cocked his head slightly as if he was trying to understand something particularly confusing. They stood there like that for a moment before he broke the silence that had settled between them. 

"You... are not Erik." he forced out, his heavy accent coloring his words. 

"No, I'm not," she replied, managing to suppress the laughter rising up in her but not her smile. He smiled back but it didn't quite meet his dark eyes. After another moment she asked, "Are you a friend of Erik's?"

He pursed his lips and replied, "In a manner. I'm Artyom. I don't think we've met but can I come in?" Since he looked quite cold and seemed to know Erik, she decided it wouldn't be polite to leave him outside much longer. The moment the door opened enough to squeeze through, he entered and hung up his coat on the stand while he toed off his shoes. 

At first glance, he was not very pleasant looking. He had a pointed face with a crooked nose and small, shrewd-looking eyes under a dark brow. Water dripped from his black hair and soaked the collar of his button-down shirt and vest. 

"You're right, we haven't met. I'm Christine Daae." she said when he turned back to her.

He nodded at that and replied, "Well, good to meet you but I need to see Erik. Where is he?" When she gave a shrug and didn't respond, he frowned and set off down a narrow hall.

Unsure of what to do with the situation, she followed him. After two sharp turns, he stopped at an unremarkable door and started hammering away at it, much harsher than he had hit the front door. 

He had only hit the door a few times when it suddenly swung open, revealing Erik. He looked irritated to see Artyom but his gaze softened when he saw Christine behind his friend. Artyom looked furious when he saw Erik but said nothing to him. Instead, he turned to Christine.

"Miss Daae, if you go back the way we came, the second door on the left of that hall is the kitchen." He paused to see if she was following and continued when she nodded. "Make some coffee for the three of us and wait in the room next to it." Erik glared at him as Christine hurried off. 

Once she had vanished from sight, Artyom turned to Erik, who had gone back to looking angry. Artyom pushed them both back into the room and shut the door.

"Are you insane? Do you want to get killed?" Artyom asked venomously. " He was only met with a blank look but continued on. "I come over to see if you are hurt and why you fought in that club. But you do not even open the door. The door was opened by 'Christine' because you are full of your drugs, again." He sat across from Erik in the small room that usually housed their meetings, waiting for a reply. 

"How would you know if I had any cocaine?" Erik scoffed. Artyom gave him a look of irritation and gestured sharply at his friends face.

"You sit there with your huge eyes and the powder on your cheek, challenging me?" Erik glared at him and rubbed the drug off his cheek with his shirt sleeve. "But you have made it clear enough that you will not listen to me about that. Instead, let us talk of last night."

"What of it," Erik responded sullenly, staring at the table that separated them. "There was a fight, I clearly won, and no one died." 

"You will tell me nothing of a fight except 'no one died'?" No response came to that, so he huffed and switched topics. "Fine. What of Ms. Daae?" he tried. 

Erik's head snapped up and his look of disinterest was gone. "Leave her alone, Artyom. She is no business of yours."

"Your business is my business, moron. But you would not bring her here without a reason. So who is she to you?" he yelled back before reigning in his frustration and speaking more quietly. "If she is no one to you, she would not be here. That means she means something to you. You know the life we lead, why would you rope a doll like that into this?" Erik looked tired and ill as he came further down from his high. 

"You were not there-" he started.

"No, I wasn't. If I had been, she would not be here now." Artyom snapped. 

"Do you really think that I should have left her to the whims of DeChagny?" he demanded with irritation. "I had the power and ability to save her, why would I leave her to such a fate?" His friend didn't respond and silently handed Erik a white handkerchief, watching as it stained with crimson. 

"Erik, you can't continue like this, the drugs need to stop. You need to be strong or we will be doomed," he said quietly as his friend did his best to wipe the blood from his nose. A slight nod was the only acknowledgment to his words and Artyom pocketed the ruined handkerchief when it was handed back to him. "Let's not keep Ms. Daae waiting." He said offering a hand to Erik, who took it and rose.


End file.
